


Ballet Boy Toy

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2017 [38]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 07:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10552842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Any, any m/m, ballet AU."Rodney is looking to be a patron of the arts. John is his ballet boy toy for the evening.





	

Rodney eyed his glass of wine warily. He wasn't much of a wine aficionado - one never knew where citrus was lurking - and he wasn't the type to swirl it in his glass and sniff it and a bunch of other stupidity, but he was making an effort to support the arts, and so he was getting out and being supportive and mingling. His niece Madison loved ballet, and when his PR guru Teyla recommended that Atlantis Enterprises donate to a local arts cause, ballet was the easiest choice.  
  
So far he wasn't mingling so much as hiding in the corner and hoping no one tried to talk to him. Radek was surrounded by several beautiful ballerinas, talking about how one of his cousins had made it into the Bolshoi (he was Czech, not Russian, but he could very well have been telling the truth) and Miko was kneeling down and talking to the little girl ballerinas, exclaiming as they showed off their shoes.  
  
Only one other person looked as uneasy as Rodney felt, and that was the tall, slender man in the corner, lean beneath his perfectly-tailored tux and slouching against one of the little tables where people were supposed to congregate and enjoy their wine and cheese. The man caught Rodney's eye, and something like recognition crossed his face. He straightened up and crossed the room, stepping lightly around clusters of people, and planted himself in front of Rodney.  
  
"You must be Rodney McKay," he said. "I'm John Sheppard, your ballet boy toy for the night."  
  
Rodney nearly swallowed his tongue. "Excuse me?" Had Teyla hired him an _escort?_ He could find his own dates, thank you very much.  
  
"I'm John Sheppard, _le premier danseur_." He smiled and offered his elbow. "How would you like me to show you around?"  
  
Rodney was Canadian enough to speak French well, understood from John's title that he was one of the senior dancers in the company. He clutched his wineglass like a shield. "I wouldn't have expected someone with such execrable posture to be a dancer."  
  
John shrugged. "I'm not dancing right now." He raised his eyebrows. "So, a private tour?"  
  
Rodney remembered what Teyla had drilled into him as she'd pushed him out the door. _Pretend you are a graduate student who needs grant money._ That made no sense, because the ballet wanted money from him, not the other way around, but he set aside the wineglass and looped his arm through John's. "Sure. A private tour. See what my money's worth."  
  
"It's worth more than you know," John assured him. He started with the lobby, showed Rodney the best place to check his coat, which wasn't where most theater patrons went, and the least-used water fountain (so there was never a line during intermission). He showed Rodney the private boxes, the orchestra pit, the stage, some of the trapdoors and other effects. He showed Rodney the wings and the dressing rooms backstage. He was knowledgeable about the theater, knew bits and pieces about its architectural history, shared stories about backstage antics and near-disasters.  
  
John was easy on the eyes and pleasant enough company, but Rodney was plagued by a question the entire time they walked and talked, and finally he burst out with it.  
  
"I'll admit, I've never seen an actual ballet performance before, my five-year-old niece's recitals aside. Isn't a bit...weird, being a male ballet dancer? I mean, all you do is lift the women, right?"  
  
"Well, any time there's a love story, like Swan Lake or Romeo and Juliet, there's a leading man, and he gets good solos," John said.  
  
"But ballet is about being graceful and - and pretty. Isn't it?"  
  
John arched an eyebrow. "You saying men can't be pretty?"  
  
"There's pretty-attractive and pretty-effeminate," Rodney said, and uh-oh, he was probably being offensive, right? Teyla would be kicking him in the ankle right about now.  
  
"Men can be graceful without being effeminate, even when they do ballet," John assured him.  
  
"I'm a scientist. I need proof. Prove it."  
  
John stared at him for a long moment. But then he smirked, the expression all insolence. "Challenge accepted. Give me your phone."

Rodney blinked. "What?"  
  
"Your phone. You have music on it, yes?"  
  
"Of course, but -"  
  
John held out a hand. "Hand it over."  
  
Rodney fumbled in his pockets, paused. Because John had shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and draped it over a chair. He unknotted his bow tie with one hand, set it on his jacket. He also took off his cummerbund and was unbuttoning his shirt, and the undershirt beneath clung to him like a second skin. He was all muscle.  
  
"The phone, Rodney?"  
  
"Oh. Yes. Of course." Rodney unlocked it with a swipe of his thumb and handed it over. John paused in his undressing, fired up the music app, and set some random music to playing. Classical. But then he reached into the box beside the chair and drew out a pair of skin-tone ballet shoes. He toed off his own shiny shoes, peeled off his socks, and there was something intimate, about seeing him barefoot.  
  
But then he was standing there in slacks, a white tank top, and ballet shoes, and thumbing through Rodney's music some more.  
  
"Don't tell Director Weir I did this," he said, and then he handed Rodney the phone. "When I tell you, push play. I turned it all the way up. Ready?"  
  
Rodney accepted the phone in shaking hands. "Ready."  
  
John went a ways out onto the stage, leaving Rodney in the wings, and assumed some kind of dancer pose, and when he was in dancer mode, his posture was textbook perfect.  
  
"Hit it," John said.  
  
The music that came spilling out of Rodney's phone wasn't his usual classical or symphony fare but some soul or R&B thing Teyla had put on there in an attempt to broaden his musical tastes.  
  
Rodney made a face, but then John began to move, and - oh.  
  
_Oh._  
  
He was beautiful. He was passionate. He was alive. His legs were long, and his spins were breathtaking. His jumps were powerful - how could one man jump so high without a running start? And the whole time, John was focused on Rodney, dancing for him and only for him, but also dancing for the song. In John's body, the song was alive.  
  
When the song ended, John was breathless but grinning, and Rodney was breathless for an entirely different reason.  
  
"Well, Dr. McKay, proof enough?" John prowled over to him, and Rodney wanted to reach out, feel his racing heart, feel the heat of his body and -  
  
Rodney swallowed hard. "Yes. You made your point well. Your company can expect full support from my company."  
  
John tilted head. "And what about me?"  
  
"You?"  
  
"Me personally," John said. "I thought I was awfully good at being your ballet boy toy. Don't I get a reward?"  
  
Rodney blinked. "Should I ask the director to give you more solos or something?"  
  
John stepped in closer. "You could do that. Or you could take me home with you. Find out just how flexible a ballet dancer is."  
  
Rodney's eyes went wide. "Oh! I - you want to come home with me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why? Because I have money?" No, that was the wrong thing to say, John was going to get offended. Rodney had had people sleep with him for worse reasons, and John was gorgeous. Rodney had to fix this -  
  
"Because," John said, "I've seen how cute you are with Madison when you come to pick her up from dance class for Jeannie sometimes. And I've always been a sucker for blue eyes."  
  
And then it clicked. "You're Crazy Hair John." Madison talked about him all the time.  
  
John laughed. "Yeah, that's what the girls call me."  
  
Madison adored her ballet teachers, of whom John was only one of many. Rodney looked John up and down and said, "Yes. Come home with me." And he pulled John into a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Sergei Polunin and Illan Riviere and Giulio Dilemmi and the other beautiful male dancers in this world.


End file.
